His enemy was a dragon laced with medals.
It picked his pockets, hid his poems,
beat its tail on his head at night,
blew the nose off his wife’s face.
For God’s sake, peace! cried the poet.
Then the dragon jumped on his back.
Warm in his lizardskin coat he stepped outside.
No one, no one else in the snowy city
wore a lizardskin coat!
Its purple hearts jingled like temple bells.
It rested its pointed chin on the poet’s head.
Go right, said the dragon.
The poet skipped left.
Go up, said the dragon.
The poet went downtown.
At one o’clock it turned yellow.
At two o’clock it turned green.
Go up, said the dragon, or let me be.
I am Salamander, fireman of the stars,
bound to cross my brow with their ashes.
How shall I go? asked the poet.
Just as you are, said the dragon,
day in night, night in hand,
hand in pocket, pocket in poem,
poem in bone, bone in flesh,
flesh in flight.